


Ruin (and the sweetness of Death)

by Soldier24



Series: Bits & Pieces [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Talking To Dead People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soldier24/pseuds/Soldier24
Summary: Death would be oh so sweeter, he thinks as he drops down on his front (less glass and metal than his ruined back) and breathes into the coolness of the tile. The way it makes him feel human if just for a moment.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: Bits & Pieces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976725
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Ruin (and the sweetness of Death)

Oh, but death.

Death would be so much sweeter.

The thought crosses his mind much later. Much later, as he picks glass and concrete from his ruined face with eyes that won't focus even in the bright lights of his motel bathroom. (That won't focus right ever again, he thinks, with every sharp pain that make his vision blur more. But he ignores it for now. Lives with its impending reality.)

And Jack, Jack is a soldier. So Jack swallows through the pain, downing whiskey like his father did. Like the whiskey will save him from the burning of his skin, his muscle, his chest. The hole in his chest alone is more than most people could survive. And Jack knows, knows very well that the grief will catch up to him one day. That it will leave him even more a ruin of a man than he is now, but that day isn't today. Isn't now. (And that fact has to be good enough. Even when it isn't. Especially because it isn't.)

So, he downs the whiskey like it's water and pulls another piece of glass like his body isn't shaking loose at the seams from the pain.

 _"Real shame that your pretty boy face is ruined."_ The ghost of the love of his life whispered as his hands continue to tremble, the burns across his knuckles splitting open anew. From one moment to another, he's in so much agony that he doesn't remember what it feels like to be human. Doesn't know if he'll feel human again _"At least you won't drag another poor bastard down with you now that your good looks are trashed."_ Gabriel laughs into his ear as if he were a second away from wrapping Jack up in his arms.

His stomach clenches hard, Jack barely makes it to the toilet. Retches again and again, till he's dry heaving and the tears down his face are burning through the cuts and fried skin.

Death would be oh so sweeter, he thinks as he drops down on his front (less glass and metal than his ruined back) and breathes into the coolness of the tile. The way it makes him feel human if just for a moment.

He feels the ghost of a man lay down beside him, can almost see him at the edges of his quickly fading vision. _"Hey, Jackie."_

"Gabe." His voice is hoarse, ragged from the screaming and the smoke. It feels like the fire is still burning all around him.

_"Fancy meeting you here."_

"Fuck you. Go back to the party." He mumbles nonsensically, and in the back of his mind knows he's remembering a night from years ago. When he pushed the edges of his super soldier bullshit too far with Torb's swill. (He never did learn his lesson. When too much, was too much.)

 _"Nah, Jackie,"_ A cool hand ran through his hair and he leaned into it even then, after the war, heart pounding in his chest. _"I'm exactly where I wanna be, cariño."_

He opens his eyes but the darkness doesn't leave. His breath catches in his throat and he feels the tears again, burning across his ruined face. He's blind. He's blind. He's blind and he's grateful. He's blind and torn asunder.

He's blind and Gabriel's face was the last he saw before he lost his sight. (What sick romantic poetry bullshit. Gabe would have eaten it up)

"Me too, Gabe." He whispers to an empty room, the coolness of the tiles, still as he breathes again. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

The humanity sticks to him a little more, the coolness of the tile a vivid brand against his burning skin. He pushes himself back up and feels for the tweezers, pulling out more shrapnel from his flesh by touch alone.

After all, he'll have time for grief when he's dead.


End file.
